Rizzo and Olson
by Catherine Pugh
Summary: Peggy and Stan hang out.


"I don't know about some of these," Peggy Olson complained. "I like this one, but her face is at a weird angle. I think you would have drawn this better. Who was the photographer on this assignment? They're lousy."

"The guy Ginzo tried to get me to hire," Stan replied, lighting a cigarette. "Sorry, Madame Queen."

Peggy had been extremely irritable for the past couple of weeks. At first, Stan thought it might have had to do with the workload pile she'd been stuck with – with Draper gone, she'd gained much of the Creative Director role without so much as a promotion. He knew it bothered her, and he didn't blame her.

But man, she could be a bitch when she was in a bad mood. He took a drag and exhaled, trying not to snap at her. It would only make trouble later. She was probably on the rag or something.

Peggy didn't attempt to apologize. She shrugged her shoulders and stomped down the hall to their office. Lately she'd been in Don's space, cut adrift from much of the creative process, only seeing end results.

Stan gathered up the mock-ups and put them in his portfolio case. He took them down to the office and made notes on what to change, then drew a couple of storyboards for the reshoot. She was right, his illustrations were much better than the photographs. But Sunkist wanted photographs. He made a couple of phone calls.

Stan was looking at the artwork other people were doing - fantastical, design-based things that he was trying to work out in gouache and those new acrylic paints. He thought better high, painted better high, but he thought about his potential and didn't want to be accused of slacking. He'd started cleaning up his act and really putting his nose to the grindstone.

He put on his jacket and walked down the hallway. He paused as he heard sobbing coming from Draper's office. He opened the door a crack and saw Peggy on the sofa, crying.

Stan had never really seen Peggy cry before. He knew she must have at some point, being female, but she made a point to never cry at the office, and she had always seemed pretty stoic to him. Impenetrable. Seeing her so vulnerable made him feel soft all of a sudden. He always had a weakness for damsels in distress. He closed the door quietly and knocked on it to give her a chance to save face.

"Hey, shitbird, I'm heading out for dinner."

Sniff.

"Alright," a small, shaking voice replied. Stan thought about just leaving at that moment, but he decided to open the door instead. Peggy sat upright, furiously wiping her eyes, her bravado coming back full force.

"What do you want, Rizzo?"

"To see if you want to get a pastrami sandwich with me."

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

Stan walked toward her and held out his hand. "Yes, you are. You skipped lunch today. Remember?" She drooped her head as he pulled her up. "Come on, Peggy, what's going on? You've been an asshole all week. You on the rag?"

"No," Peggy said. "I mean, I don't want to talk about it here."

"Then come with me down to the deli and we can talk there. I'll buy you dinner."

"Fine."

-o0o-

After they ordered their sandwiches and beers, Peggy relaxed a little and even cracked a smile after one of Stan's gossip stories.

"What's been going on?" Stan asked. "Look, Peggy, I'm your friend. I know when something's bothering you. Is it your workload?"

"It's not that," she said, poking at her coleslaw. "I've made a terrible mistake."

"Can't be as bad as Don's," Stan said.

"It's bad," Peggy said. "And you like gossip too much for me to trust you."

Stan feigned offense as he put his hand to his heart. "Me? Stanley Rizzo? How long have we known each other?"

"I had an affair with Ted," she blurted out.

Stan nearly choked. He had suspected something was up between her and Chaough, but he thought they had just been doing harmless flirting. This was quite serious. Suddenly everything made sense. The mirthful creases around his eyes disappeared and his body slumped.

"Ah. So that explains why he took off."

Peggy's eyes welled with tears. "Well, say something. You always say something."

Stan looked at her sympathetically. He'd teased her in the past, sure, but he'd never seen her in this kind of state. Chaough really fucked her up. He reached over and patted her on the hand.

"No, that would be like kicking a puppy," he joked. She smiled weakly. "Look, Peggy, I'm no pillar of morality. I've done dumb shit. I don't go messing with married women, but I've done my share of hedonism. I'm not here to judge. The best thing you can do is just keep on going and learn from your mistakes."

Peggy laughed ruefully. "Look who's dishing out advice now," she replied, picking up her pickle and putting it on his plate. He smiled. She hated dill pickles.

"Hey, shitbird. It's going to be okay. There's no real damage done, is there?"

She folded her napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. Peggy sighed and leaned against the wall, staring at the television over the bar, which was airing _The Brady Bunch._

"Ugh, I hate this show," she snapped. "Stupid kids."

Stan studied her, his head cocked to the side like he did when he knew how to get her goat. He looked toward the television and back at her.

"Oh my god. You're in love with him, aren't you?" he said, surprised. "You are. Don't deny it."

"I was. It's over now. I'm forgetting it ever happened, like you suggested."

"That's the spirit." He finished off his beer. "By the way, I didn't suggest forgetting. I suggested learning from –"

"I'm going home," she said. "There's no point in dwelling on this. You will keep this a secret, won't you? I can trust you, right?" Her tone went up half an octave as anxiousness crept over her.

"Yeah," Stan said, truthfully. "You really can trust me." She nodded and put on her coat. "Hey, I'll walk with you to the subway. I think I'm gonna call it a night, too."

"What's your plans this weekend?"

"Nothing. Gonna take it easy this weekend."

Peggy barely remembered what a lazy night felt like. It had been nearly a year.

-o0o-

**Two months later **

Stan leafed through his portfolio cases at home, trying to find an illustration he did for BBDO about six years ago. He found it in an unmarked box. Pulling it out, he examined his work. He looked at the clock. 11:30 PM. He stifled a yawn. Stan had always been a bit of a night owl – but this new schedule SCP was on was pretty brutal. 8:00 AM meetings were not Stan's thing. Oh well, only one more week of it and then back to normal.

"Shit, I was good," he said, chuckling as he picked up a baby food ad. "Nah, you're still good, Rizzo."

He laughed even harder when he came across his art school portfolio, stuffed almost entirely full of nude women. He never slept with any of those models. They were gross. Beautiful, but gross. His mind idly wandered to Peggy, the last woman he'd seen nude but never slept with. She wasn't gross. He remembered with a grimace their showdown at the Waldorf that weekend. It was evident he had wanted her that night and she shot him down.

He looked at the camera on the table. It had been a birthday gift to himself: a nice Hasselblad 4x5 camera with a tripod. He'd been taking some night classes in photography every Wednesday and Friday to learn how to shoot and process. There was a darkroom at SCP, but he had made a small one in his bathroom. The room stunk of vinegar half the time, but he was getting better at photography. He hadn't told anyone, figuring it was best to just go ahead and do things without making a fuss over it. He'd learned to keep his mouth shut over the years.

He also had bought a few books for inspiration. His foot was falling asleep, so he got up, stumbling, just as the phone rang.

"Rizzo. Speak to me." He twirled the cord around his finger. He knew who it was. It was always her. No one else called at this weird hour.

"It's me."

"Hey," Stan replied. "You better not be working."

"I'm not. I'm sitting in front of the television with the cat."

"So an exciting evening, then."

"You're at home," she giggled. He could hear the ice clink in her glass over the phone. At least she was relaxing somehow, he thought.

"I am," he replied, taking some film out of his bag to inspect it. He had just made a trip to the camera shop yesterday, picking up a few packs of 4x5. Suddenly he had an idea.

"Peggy, do you want to come over?"

Peggy laughed. "Am I that transparent?"

"Get your ass over here."

"Alright, I'll be there in twenty."

-o0o-

Stan heard a timid knock at the door and opened to see Peggy – a more impish Peggy than he'd been seeing all week. He handed her a bottle of beer and showed her in. She smiled when she saw his camera setup.

"What's this?"

"My new toy. I've been secretly taking night classes at the art school in photography."

Peggy was glad Stan was taking photography seriously and showing a little backbone. She admired his camera as he showed her how it worked. He asked her if she would mind him photographing her for his art class project. She agreed.

"How are you developing these?" she asked.

"I made a darkroom in my bathroom," he replied. "You don't need a palace for that."

She offered him a space in her building to use as a studio. It was tempting, but her neighborhood was still pretty frightening, so he declined. "I can use the darkroom at SCP," he said. "Better than risking getting mugged."

"It's getting better," she said. "I think."

Stan rolled his eyes. "Just go about my place like it's yours, I want to capture you naturally."

"But this isn't my place. I can't act natural."

"Come on, try. Mess around in the kitchen or something. Forget I'm here."

After a little while, Peggy forgot that Stan was photographing her. She decided to make a snack. Stan had some popcorn in his cupboard, so she poured some in a pot with a little oil and started cooking it. She had accidentally over-measured the proper amount of popcorn, and soon the pot was nearly exploding with corn kernels. She started panicking, trying to pick up the pieces, and Stan just stood there laughing his ass off, snapping away.

"THAT'S PERFECT," he announced, winding the camera. Three more exposures. One of Peggy laughing, one of her tossing a handful of popcorn into the sink, one of her turning and giving him that prim-yet-amused smile he was always secretly fond of.

"Well, we have loads of popcorn to snack on. Big bowl in the bottom cupboard. Little bowl on my coffee table."

"Isn't one bowl enough?" she asked, looking in the fridge for some butter to melt.

"Not for what I have planned," he replied, pulling out a dime bag and setting it on the counter. "Some prime bud from my brother's homegrown stash."

"Terrific," Peggy said. "By the way, your milk's expired."

"Well, I wasn't drinking it, anyway."

Stan lit up his weed and happily puffed away. He went into the living room. A few minutes later, Peggy joined him on the sofa with a giant pile of snacks and she gamely took the pipe from him. It had been a while since she smoked any grass; she'd been hitting the sauce lately. It felt good to relax.

"What's on?" she asked, as Stan turned on the TV.

"Oh, the usual shit," he said, propping his feet on the table and inhaling once more. Peggy looked around and noticed his art books. She picked one up and leafed through it.

"There's some interesting stuff in here," she said.

"Yeah," was all he could reply. She was still way too uptight. He passed the bowl back to her and took a handful of popcorn. A few straggling pieces remained in his beard. Emboldened slightly, Peggy reached over and picked them out. Stan tried brushing her hands away, but suddenly he felt pressure on his shoulders as she had somehow maneuvered herself closer and was leaning in to kiss him.

"Hey, what is the matter with you?"

"I'm trying to kiss you," she said, hovering over his lips.

"WHY?"

"I…I wanted to," she said.

Stan shifted on the sofa. This was not what he expected. Of course any physical attention from Peggy was welcome, but he was suspicious. There was no way she was over Chaough.

Despite his body demanding he explore this further; despite the cloud in his head, he pulled apart and turned to face Peggy.

"I want you to," he confessed. She leaned in, but he stopped her. "But not now. I can't believe I'm saying this. Look. We have to work together. Haven't you learned your lesson yet about office romances? If this is what you're after, that is."

Peggy leaned back, rubbing her hands over her face. "Forget it," she mumbled.

"No."

His voice softened a bit as he took her hand. "You know, I love you."

She snorted. "Last time I heard that line, I got into big trouble."

Stan leaned back, mirroring her. He looked over at her miserable expression and put his arm around her, protectively.

"I do love you, Peggy. Whether it's brotherly or lustfully or what, I have no idea. If it's brotherly, it's definitely incestuous because there's been many times I've thought about that night in the hotel." Peggy laughed at the memory.

"But I also know how you are," he continued, rubbing her shoulder. "And no offense, but you've made some really shitty decisions over the years. Abe? Jesus."

"Shut up," she said, elbowing him in the ribs. "Abe wasn't that bad."

"He wasn't that great, either."

"What about your string of hippies?"

"That shit gets old. None of them want to talk about anything interesting. Weirdly enough, you're the only girl I've ever met who's ever read Shakespeare." He pulled her against him.

"Stan, I love you, too."

"Great."

"No," she continued. "I've never said that out loud, to anyone. Not even my mother. Not to Abe. Not to Ted."

"You're not joking," he said, looking at her face. "You're really telling the truth."

"You know me better than anyone," she replied. "And you're still willing to put up with my bullshit. Most of the time, anyway."

Stan rubbed her shoulder some more. "Come on, Pegs, it's getting late. You going home or staying the night?"

"I'll stay here. Stan…"

"Hmm?"

"I just want to sleep."

"I know."


End file.
